Page 20 of Iridescent
My gaze drifts to the dashboard, to the glowing numbers of the clock. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting, willing me to say something true.
I twist the thin gold ring on my finger, over and over.
“I…” The confession sits heavy and bitter on my tongue. I force it out before I can swallow it back. “I took a home test this morning. Before the nurse came for the blood draw. I couldn’t wait.”
He goes still.
In the corner of my vision, his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The light turns green, but he doesn’t move—not until the car behind us gives a short, impatient honk.
“Mierda,” he mutters under his breath, easing the car forward. “I completely forgot that was today.”
Of course you did.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me all day?” he continues, his expression tightening. “You could have woken me. I can’t believe—”
“Are you blaming me for your own incompetence right now, Xavier?” I cut in, stunned by the sheer audacity of him.
He swallows. “No. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” His voice lowers. “What did it say?”
I debate keeping it from him a little longer.
He said we’d take a break if this cycle failed. That was why I hadn’t woken him when the nurse came, or when the clinic called, or demanded to know how he’d slept through something this important.
I didn’t want to hear him say it.
Not today.
Not when I understood his exhaustion and resented it in the same breath.
But I’ve never liked lying to him. Not even by omission. Honesty is one of the few sacred things we promised never to withhold, even when the truth hurts.
“It was negative,” I breathe. “The clinic called later and said the same thing.”
Saying it aloud makes it real. Final.
I blink hard, chasing away the burn in my eyes.
Xavier drags a hand over his mouth. “Fuck.” Color drains from his face as he glances at me. “I’m sorry, amor. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most.”
A knot forms in my chest, making my breath stutter.
“You were supposed to be,” I whisper.
“I was.” His throat works, his gaze fixed on the road. “And I failed you. Today. Last night. God knows how many times before that.” His voice roughens. “Lo siento, amor. For all of it.”
“It’s okay.” I am too tired to argue. “We still have options. Dr. Moreau said it may be time to discuss IVF.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “IVF?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to taking a break, Yara?”
“I’m not doing that.”
He nods once, a jerky motion that fails to hide the frustration carved into his face.
“You promised me,” he says through his teeth. “You said you would stop doing this to yourself, amor. Why are you going back on your word?”
